An Old Order
A carpenter poem. Some days, we might have laid 10,000 pounds on a beam and then eaten lunch below it or on top of it and thought nothing of it while that beam silently bears the load.
Lumber comes in hacks.
An Old Order What about the rafter? And his littermates, all lined up in weight bearing union, a tight knit clan carrying the roof load as one. I thrill at the thought of a beam and what it holds, silent and stoic for centuries. The restless studs are corralled in a hack but soon enough are turned loose upon the deck like a herd of thundering beasts upon a plain. They will come to rest below the beams, finding assurance in their array. The adults protect their children in this same way. This entire gathering may seem like a stampede but it is not chaotic, nothing sits akimbo, no disarray nor disorder. The rafter and beam, stud and deck, we lock shoulder to shoulder against all the might that gravity, wind and weight can muster. We hold fast, for we are the members of an old order.
Great poem. Although I am sure you accidentally didn’t add a “t” to though. I love how your life comes through your poetry. A carpenter is the perfect person to construct a poem.
A carpenter poem. Woodn’t you just know. I like this. We recently built a primitive little bitty cabin in the woods. Every board, we touched and placed in it. I relate to this poem. So good.
You “Nailed” it. Thanks for sawing, tinabeth